


shakin booty, makin sweet love all the night

by nendodirk, zoosmell



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bongs, Consensual Underage Sex, Consensual sex under the influence, Drugs, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Marijuana, One Night Stands, Stoner Dirk, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nendodirk/pseuds/nendodirk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoosmell/pseuds/zoosmell
Summary: '“You’re cute. It’s funny, cuz you’re so much older than me. But you’re adorable,” you tell himfondly, patting his cheek. Something about this feels wrong, but also right, in all the best ways. You’re mesmerized right now, and honestly? That’s all that matters. And you'll chase this feeling to the end.'teenaged john lulls big boy dirk into having thoughts for a moment -- for the dirkjohn hivemind au
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39
Collections: The DirkJohn Hivemind AU





	shakin booty, makin sweet love all the night

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i want to hold you like you're mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902537) by [ectotwinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectotwinks/pseuds/ectotwinks), [nendodirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nendodirk/pseuds/nendodirk). 



> hi ao3!
> 
> wrote this drabble with nendodirk for the hivemind au
> 
> it's like 23:00 and i barely got this beta'd so it's probably pretty shit but? i don't really care!
> 
> nevertheless, i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it!
> 
> p.s. title is from 'The Good Life' by weezer off the pinkerton album

Honestly, you really don’t want to be here right now. 

You would rather be _absolutely_ anywhere but here. 

Yet here you are, skateboard towing heavily in hand, tears drying on your face. 

At Dave’s house. 

But who is this in front of you? Not Dave, that’s for sure. 

Your name’s John Egbert, and you’re intimidated. 

“Hi, uh, mister Strider?” you mutter to him. This guy’s a little bit scary if anything. He’s like Dave, but taller than you. And with pointy glasses. And hair. And cool clothes. Very cool clothes. (Maybe you’re more envious than intimidated.) 

"Hey," he greets you, raising an eyebrow. "If he's who you're here for, then, Dave's not home. Sorry dude," he frowns slightly, in slight earnest.

“That’s fine,” you tell him earnestly with a sniffle. “This is for him. Can you just... leave it inside or something,” you say, placing a hand up on the back of your head to scratch the back of your freshly shaved undercut.

He looks you down, and suddenly after wiping the clouding tears away, this guy doesn't seem so scary anymore. He's about the same height as you -- only holding one or two inches over you -- and looks more similar to Dave the more you squint at him. 

"Uh, yeah, okay. You sure you don't wanna come in? I was just smoking a bowl. I think-- uh. Unless you don't smoke." He coughs a little, and you can smell the strong pot sensation, both from his breath and the inside of the Strider household. It's a little much, but you can't say you aren't used to it - you do smoke, just not that often. It usually hits you like a rock, overdriving your senses and often bringing you farther than what is wanted for the night.

But maybe that's what you need right now. And, hypothetically, you think the older Strider here would be a pretty cool dude to get stoned with.

“Oh. Nah, I- I smoke.” You clear your throat, wiping the last tear from your eye. “You won’t like... get me in trouble for this, will you?”

You trust him, a little more than you did five seconds ago, but it also kind of just... feels the sensation of a brick wall. There's quiet anime music playing from the upper floor, which gives a bit of a casual feeling to the Strider household, you think. You’ve been to Dave’s house, sure, but only when he’s home alone. You’re only acquainted with his (father? brother? brothers? You’re pretty sure there’s two of them) because you'd see him in the mornings after staying with Dave, which certainly doesn’t help your embarrassment right now.

“Should I...” he steps to the side and moves his arm awkwardly, you sort of side-stepping into the front room (? living room?) and setting Dave’s board up against the wall. It’s a fuzzy feeling; Dave’s family’s house; but it’s one that’s somewhat familiar to you.

"Oh, and none of that 'mister Strider' shit. I'm not _that_ old yet," he snorts in a weird mix of laughter and awkwardness. "Just call me Dirk." 

"Alright, Dirk," you nod, sniffling and walking farther into his house. He sits on the futon, rearranging all the assorted pot shit. You watch ceaselessly with your improperly beady eyes as he picks up his lighter off the floor, him raising an eyebrow. "Why are you staring at me, kid?"

"Bored." You answer honestly.

"Well, you and I are about to get zooted as fuck, so," He chuckles warmly. "That bored feeling won't last very long." 

You laugh back at him and take your jacket off. It’s a Varsity style one, with some punk patches on the front and your name on the back. As you lay it over the arm of the couch and sit down, Dirk extends out the hand holding his bong. 

"Ladies first."

“Alright Dirk,” you tell him, then having a delayed angry reaction at that last jab. “Oh my god. I am _not_ a lady.” You want to take his joke, but also you’re a little offended? Now you know why Dave gets all in arms about misgendering. 

"Okay, okay, no ladies. Don't need to get your panties in a twist," he assures you, although still in the usual deadpan. It feels... nice. You can still tell there's some emotion behind his words, which sure is different from Dave. When he tells you nice things, it's just... blank. It's empty.

You don't feel anything.

You wearily curve your legs over the side of the futon, facing him directly. “Wow. This house looks different when I’m not... sneaking in. Oops.” You didn't mean to let that last bit out. Hopefully, he doesn't care.

"S'all good. Not like I wasn't already aware you snooped around my place." Which isn't a surprising remark from him, to be honest -- not only are you rather oblivious, it's probably obvious that you loomed around in the night considering your being there in the morning. Dirk definitely knows you and Dave are safe about everything that goes on between you two though.

While Dirk offered you the bong first, you're a little strung up with anxiety, so he takes it up to himself to go through the motions first. It's a simple matter of lighting the glass, inhaling the smoke, holding it in, and releasing it refreshingly. You can tell by his lack of self-awareness that it's been some time since Dirk did this with somebody else, him leaning to the back of the pull-out couch. You turn yourself around -- to face the front door, legs crossed applesauce -- in mimicry of the bigger Strider.

"I probably shouldn't be condoning this--" gesturing to the bong, he continues, "--but whatever. You're keeping it in the house, so... Just don't, like... I dunno, brag about it within earshot of your parents or whatever."

“Parents,” you muse, twirling a finger onto your thigh. “I don't...” A sigh fights past your lips. “You won’t have to worry about it.” Yeah. You don’t want to get into your trauma with this guy you’re only just meeting. 

Eventually, you reach out your grabby hands to him, and he gives you the bong and lighter. You’re not _too_ unfamiliar with this, so when you deftly place your mouth around the crest of the glass and light the bowl in the side, slowly breathing it in and puffing out a solid cloud of hazy smoke, Dirk looks at you like you just killed a fucking baby or something. You’d tease him over it, but you’ve just been hit by the weed like a bag of rocks, so your brain is honestly out of bandwidth for that. 

You blink a few times, handing the lighter and bong back to him. It sure feels a lot less lonely, getting high with _somebody_. Dave always grated on you (mostly because you stoned is a mess), and Jane... well, let’s just say she doesn’t need to know. 

So... you like this, you think. Dirk’s got his knee against yours, and it’s comforting, his company. He feels... warm.

He doesn't feel like Dave does, that's for sure.

"Are you the one who always steals my fucking Fruity Pebbles?" Dirk randomly blurts in a sheer moment of high realization, squinting at you pointedly. Although you shouldn't feel scared, it digs like a gunshot wound into you, and you can't help but realize the underlying fear instilling at his stern gaze.

“Yeah. I am,” you tell him, letting out another smoke from your mouth. Faking your confidence, as you've learned, is the best way to shake off the feeling of fear. 

“And what’ll you do about that?” 

He probably won’t give a shit, but he’s also a little scary. Like, honestly. You never really had a father though, so maybe the absence of that experience is fucking with you. You close your eyes while Dirk is mumbling away to himself and let the vibes consume you, just a little. He finally groans, and you can tell he's faking the exasperation. You like this guy.

"Guess I'll start stealing Dave's sugary shit. Cinnamon Toast fuck or whatever? Yeah. That'll teach the little fucker not to harsh on my goddamn scrambled eggs." He lets out, tapping a finger above the couch where you're sitting. Suddenly, he just starts laughing, which causes you to laugh too. "He's an asshole of a kid," Dirk muses.

“Yeah, I guess,” you tell him with a chuckle. You’re a lightweight when it comes to pot, but you’ll try to withstand it considering you’re... around Dirk. You’re a little embarrassed by it, now that you think about it. 

“Wow. Feels like a haze...” you tell him, probably playing up on the stoner innocence just a little. (Playing up probably isn’t the right word. At this point, you’re blatantly faking it, but oh well.) 

The muted background music and general noise in the house is now even more soothing, and brings you to ultimately a spot of pure relaxation. Bliss, maybe? Something, that’s for sure.

He hums to you casually, sitting up a little to take another hit, but keeping his thigh against your knee. His company next to you feels nice, and the soft static feeling of the pot is heading to your brain. You’re drawing pictures in your khaki shorts with your finger, and while you want to believe they resembled something in your head, you’re also pretty sure that it was just you grounding yourself with the grainy texture of your pants.

You place your left hand onto the surface of Dirk’s couch, and oh, it’s nice, you think. It’s cold and torn, and definitely... lived on? But it’s smooth, and leather, and you appreciate that. 

“Dirk, thank you,” you tell him, only now because you fear you’ll soon enough be too stoned to even remember you’re not at your own house anymore.

"Yeah, no problem, man. But, uh, why are you thanking me?" He turns to you and looks at you -- well, you only know that because he took his glasses off as he spoke to you -- and for some reason, it feels nice. He's got amber eyes, so starkly colourful you wonder if they're real. Not, like, he's got glass eyes, but maybe he's wearing contacts?

Your eyes drift off to his hair, fluffy and airy, like fairy floss. It looks like the fur of a really well-washed dog or something, but on a human’s head. And blonde. (You kind of want to run your fingers through it.)

“Can I, like...” you ask, him raising an eyebrow inquisitively as you gesture hand motions to your head. “Your hair.”

He silently nods, moving the glasses to the side table instead of above his forehead. He notices your straining to reach across the couch to his hair and drops his head gently into your lap as if he'd just had a huge epiphany that he could... do that. Whatever it was, he feels nice here, and _close_ , and you play with his hair, and it's soft, and... The amount of things going on right now is, surprisingly, far from suffocating.

“Mmm,” you mumble, toying off with his fluffy hair. It feels like a cloud, soft to the touch and a little bit frizzy. You can tell he puts work into it, though — it also smells really good, you think, like roses or something. Wow, Dirk uses girly shampoo? (You guess he has to, considering his hair length anyway.) 

“I don’t think I’m sad anymore,” you tell him, still playing with his blonde hair as he positions his head on your lap. Your head is laying on the headrest of the couch — the weed is quickly making you tired, mostly because it’s sending all your feeling drives and even physical sensation ones into complete overload. You aren’t going to sleep; though, at this point — you’re pretty sure you’re not going to see home till tomorrow afternoon at best.

He nuzzles your thigh earnestly, muttering out mixes of assurance, small phrases of 'that's good' and 'i'm glad' into the inner side of your upper left thigh. You nail catch in this spot right behind his ear, and you can tell he loves that feeling, by the fact he leans the back of his head even farther into your head. You sort of laugh at him, rolling your finger over the area again, twirling his hair with your other, idle hand. The noise he lets out into your clothed skin is hilariously adorable, granting you a wide grin to your face. 

You make quite the satisfied noise back at him, and it honestly feels a little strange. You do barely know this guy, and he’s quite the bit older than you, but embarrassingly enough, you... like this. Your mind is in a completely different place than normal, but you wouldn’t be able to tell if the enjoyment was out of the sheer company or thoughts more sinister creeping in on you.

But when he nuzzles into your thigh, you’re leaning toward the latter idea right about now. It’s honestly a little mortifying, but... all this is starting to go straight to places you really wish it wouldn’t right now, especially in front of your ‘boyfriend’'s much cooler older brother. 

But you’re also stoned beyond belief right now, so... this might just be okay.

Something shifts in your face when Dirk looks up at you, and you feel by his returning expression that the way you stare him down is a crime. He gulps strongly, and you can't help but break the slightly awkward silence.

“What troubles you, Strider?” you drawl out, nasally kid voice and all. He looks a little bothered under the collar, you know. You’re pretty sure, at least. He’s looking up at you (you’ll never get tired of that slight height difference,) with a woozy air of pleasure, and all of this is so entirely foreign to you that you’re not so sure how to react.

The background noises are melting in your ears like caramel syrup lazily coating a candied apple. Or like the oil in a lava lamp globbing away in the water. It’s a floaty feeling — you feel like you’re flying in the clouds, your brain in the night stars. For some reason, this high is hitting you so much harder than any other has before, but maybe because you’ve got an equally stoned blonde boy entwined like putty between your hands.

"You're... pretty?" he replies awkwardly, the words drawling out like a question, for some reason.

"I get why Dave likes you so much. You're nice. And pretty," he continues mumbling to you, a bit of a pleasant surprise. "Um. I shouldn't be saying that, though. But I think it's true. You could end up to be quite the heart breaker."

“Probably already am,” you told him. “Me and Davey are on a break. I sure needed it. Yet I’m the sad one!” At this point, you’re lamenting, but it’s whatever. 

“You’re cute. It’s funny, cuz you’re so much older than me. But you’re adorable,” you tell him fondly in return, petting his cheek. Something about this feels wrong, but also right, in all the best ways. You’re mesmerized right now, and honestly? That’s all that matters. And you'll chase this feeling to the end.

“So,” you ask inquisitively, not even really knowing what you’re asking for. A question with no meaning, open-ended to any answer. 

The deck is held out to Dirk, he just has to pick a card.

With the eloquence of a deer trying to walk for the first time, Dirk reaches up, hand cupping your cheek as he plants his lips against yours. Except he's about halfway off the mark and mostly just ends up smearing his lips on the side of your mouth, but whatever. His shitty but high point has been made.

“Kiss me. Again,” you tell him, disguising itself as a request, though both of you know it’s much more akin to a demand. And you also know that he’s going to do what you want of him because if there’s any similarity between the Strider brothers, it’s that they’re both absolutely spineless boys with daddy issues when it comes to romance. 

You like taking control, though.

You’re even more sure of this when Dirk crawls back up to your mouth, tongues intertwining with each other. You can taste the pot on his lips as his spine curls downward at your arms’ wrapping around him. The kiss is passionate, though more shortlived than you’d like, and after the two of you separate breathily, your face finds itself buried into tender skin, teeth sucking on his neck until he’s practically moaning on you.

You like this.

"John," he warbles, hands gripping your shoulders tightly. You struck gold, and you struck it good. 

“Yes, darling?” God, you sound insufferable. But you know that he’s eating it up intensely, mostly keyed by the moans coming from him as he humps your thigh. He’s like a dog in heat, and you’re keeping him on a leash, refusing to give him just what he wants until he uses his words.

“Go on, Strider,” you command to him, a hand gripping the back of his hair. You can already feel yourself getting a boner, or maybe you have one already, everything’s all blending together, but all this commanding over Dirk is making things so, so much worse. 

(Or better. So much better.)

"Fuck me, please," he breathlessly whispers, vulnerably. It feels good down your spine when he says so, giving you tingles that you're not sure another person has given you.

Just to tease, you tug his hair, pulling his face up so he can see you, eye-to-eye.

“Look in my eyes. Tell me again.”

Your boner is full-blown now, and he’s definitely noticed, so maybe it’s the drugs, but he’s got you stupefied and you know he feels the same. Now he just knows this certainly isn't any one-sided kind of thing.

"Fuck me. _Please, John,_ " he nearly begs. "I need-- I need you near me. Closer, please,"

“That’s what I thought,” you tell him, a twang that you can see seep into him, like a thorn onto his skin. And you hear him moan into you, and it’s all such a blurry thing but he takes off his clothes, and you command him to do the same for you. And suddenly, both of you are stark naked, and he’s laying on top of your stomach, breathing so heavily as his dick is pressed against yours.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him sincerely, planting a kiss onto his cheek. Currently, he’s got his calves gripping your abdomen from the sides as he ruts up against your cock, making it quite hard to keep the emotionally strong facade. You can do it, Egbert. You’re high, but you will be sexy!

"You can't say things like that and *not* expect me to cry," he only partially jokes, still humping you, resulting in your having to keep the grunts of pleasure buried deep. 

He pulls you into another kiss, surely this time, feeling like a key sliding into a lock. Something about this is just, _right_ , and you know it is, and it makes you feel _good_. And, hey, if it feels good, it must be what's right.

"Hey," he starts, his lips still gently pressed against yours, feather-light. "How... far do you want to go? I think I have lube around here somewhere..." he pauses. "Actually, wait, you've probably never really used something like this before."

"I don't think you want the truthful answer," you tell him with a bit of a chuckle, a hiccup afterwards. "Anyways, I'm willing to... go as far as you wish," you tell him with a smile. You feel floaty with him, and hey, maybe it's your emotional vulnerability, maybe it's the fact you're totally stoned, but Dirk just looks... great. Like Dave, if he had a couple years to mature, which you assume is accurate? But you also think it's rude to dumb Dirk down to just an older version of his little brother, so... you expel that thought from your mind. 

He's kneeling over you, and you can't help but use a hand to cup one of his ass-cheeks. He's well-endowed in that regard for sure, and as an ass man, you can't deny it brings you pleasure to see, even if you can't really see from this angle? But you can envision it. Better from the front anyways -- you want to see Dirk's face as you fuck his brains out.

He gently thunks you on the head with the bottle of lube, smirking onto you. "So goddamn polite even though you're about to be 6 inches deep in my ass. Dork." 

Out of curiosity, you think, he asks you a question as he pops open the cap and spreads the lube onto his own fingers. "What is the truth, then?" 

He sighs softly, taking a deft hand and swinging it behind him to lube up his ass for you. (You didn't ask him, but you're probably not the most gentle.) 

"Um. Well, I've done.... stuff like this with your brother," you tell him, letting out a cough. "A-anyways, where was I..." Quickly, you avert the subject, not really wanting to talk about your not-quite-boyfriend with the man you're about to fuck into next week.

You see him ogling your body, and you get a little embarrassed, groaning as you grab a couch cushion to cover your stomach and leaning your left arm to cover your eyes. "I'm sorry." 

You've worked really hard on making yourself look attractive, but for some reason, nothing ever changes. When you look in the mirror, you still see the chubby boy you were about two years ago. And every time Dave brings up how you're putting on weight, that's all you hear, too. Even when you exercise, it's all you tend to fixate on. This is the first time you've been seen by someone, in this light, in the full view of the lamps surrounding you two -- and you're _embarrassed_.

"Why're you sorry? I think you're gorgeous," he tells you honestly, you think, his breath hitching as you notice him fingering himself gently. It's surprising he can get much of a word out right now, so you guess he's experienced with this kind of thing. 

You've got the look on your face, the look that tells when you're lost in your own thoughts. Even Dirk notices, you think, when he pipes up again. He pulls his fingers out of himself and offers you to do the honours of opening him up. (You'll try to be nice.)

“Mmm, yeah,” you think, doing your best to wash the self-loathing thoughts away and live in the moment. You let yourself motion your hand to his ass, slowly fingering him and drawling moans out of his mouth. And, boy is it fun? Fun probably isn’t the right word, but God do his _noises_ absolutely destroy you. After about a minute of you prodding around, though, you find his prostate, and you know you do — because as soon as you press into it, he practically cries in pleasure, mumbled and jumbled begs for _you_ into your shoulder.

“I bet you do,” you tell him at the pleads of him wanting you. He’s like a mess in your hands, jelly moulding to your fingers -- and you love it.

"Want you. Need you," he mewls helplessly, hiccuping when you brush against your prostate again. And then he starts crying. "Wanna make you feel good, Please, please John, don't stop _don't stop_ \--"

You wipe away his tears, shushing him as you fuck him slower with your fingers. You know you can’t be just going at this all night, though, so at some point, you pull them out, only with a gasp of exasperation from Dirk.

“I think you’re ready,” you tease, deliberately brushing your cock at his entrance. You feel so stupid, doing this, but you’re still stoned, so you’re really not paying mind to it. You're sure Dirk doesn’t care all too much, either.

He nods furiously, panting little pecks all over your face with his lips. You finally push into him, like sliding into the home base at a baseball game. The reaction Dirk gives is even more telling of that analogy, him moaning at full volume as you press into him with vigour. This feels better than anything ever did with Dave, you think, but shake that thought away -- thinking of your boyfriend-but-not while fucking his older brother.

As you screw hard into Dirk, it’s difficult not to moan and groan yourself, so you eventually give up. You try not to be too loud, but it’s hard to not just moan at the top of your lungs — he’s just _so_ good riding you, you’re not sure you’ve ever felt exactly this pleasure before. And it’s amazing.

“Dirk, dirk, oh my god,” you beg to him, quickening your pace. Every pound into him jiggles your thighs and makes a weird noise, but you do your best to not think about it all too much. Busy focusing on the man, like, 4 years your senior getting fucked hardcore by you.

He falls into a rhythm with you, rocking his hips onto you as you upthrust. When you two finally sync, the pleasure creeps up onto you like electricity, causing both of you to voice out in surprise. 

"John, John, oh my god, it's so-so good," he slurs out. His voice is absolutely beautiful, you think, despite your thoughts being a little grounding. As you grab the back of his hair for friction, he yelps rather loudly, leaning into your shoulder and begging you not to stop. You can't even stop yourself from going faster -- it just *happens,* but Dirk certainly doesn't complain -- if anything, he starts rocking himself down onto you, letting out desperate pleas as it goes on.

Not long later, his moans are turning into bordering screams, and even through the haze of sex and arousal, you can tell climax is creeping onto him. Startlingly, he grips onto your shoulders and leans back, sounding out as he begs your name.

"John, John, oh-- _oh_ god, I'm about to--"

"Let it out," you coax into his ear, slowing your pace slightly as you knead his skin. 

And at that, as if a waterfall exploding, you can feel his dick twitch and burst spunk all down your stomach. He shakes in the moment, letting out a high-pitched groan -- but after a few seconds and the post-cum shock, he continues using his legs as leverage to ride your cock.

"Keep going," he tells you, like a wish sent to a star, and so it's only right that you oblige. But even despite that, it's not long until you're bought to orgasm yourself, grabbing onto Dirk's hair and calling his name loudly, as if you were a songbird calling to its mate. Everything feels so, so great, that even after you're both sex-wasted beyond comprehension, you can't help but lay on each other. It's a little gross, you think, considering both your guys' stomachs (well, more specifically, your shirt) are covered in each other's semen, but if you're gonna be honest? You don't really care.

"Not to be cheesy," he breaks the silence, "but that was amazing." 

And you laugh, and he laughs, and he kisses you, and you're coming off being stoned due to the fact you just fucked Dirk's brains out but you feel so high in all the best ways with him. And things just feel... right.

They feel right. This feels good.

You think, slowly, that this is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> edit 11/24/20: mirrored this fic to tumblr! ( https://brother--lover.tumblr.com/post/635713275441610752/dirk-striderjohn-egbert-shakin-booty-makin )
> 
> [Tumblr](https://brother--lover.tumblr.com/) | [18+ Twitter](https://twitter.com/zoosmells)


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